


up to speed

by Anonymous



Series: new waters [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, PWP, Rough Sex, but then whats new, maybe like an ounce of plot if you look real close, steve rogers innocently stirs shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-10 00:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15279687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Steve’s just being nice, get over yourself.”or, peter knows exactly what he's doing and tony eventually catches up, too.





	up to speed

**Author's Note:**

> again, peter's still seventeen, still legal in the state he's in, and still an actual minx
> 
> thank you all sm for the reactions to the first installment, all the love and comments fueled this second part more than you can imagine, enjoy!

Peter doesn’t work for Tony anymore - his employment had ended about 5 rounds of animalistic sex, one (now ruined) tiny maid outfit that Tony had made good on his promise and bought him, and a long conversation, after their first time. In many ways not much has changed. Peter still gets a direct deposit from Tony every second Friday, except now an exponentially larger amount than when he used to work for him, and he still spends the majority of his time at Mr. Stark’s multi-million dollar mansion. Just not cleaning.

As it is, they’re in the movie room, splayed across the huge sofa in front of the large screen while a comedic thriller plays in 4K HD. Peter’s curled into Tony’s side, absently entertaining the idea of straddling his lap and then taking things from there. He’s more than a little clingy, but anyone would be if they finally got the person they’d been wanting for the better part of a year. And anyway, Tony doesn’t seem to mind.

The only person that knew about their recent change in dynamic was Ned, who yelled _finally_ when Peter told him the news, and then made Peter regret telling him anything at all when he started demanding Peter tell him if Tony Stark’s dick is really as big as it’s rumoured to be. Which, yeah, it is. But that’s private.

Peter’s knee bumps against Tony’s thigh, and then he shuffles around in a way that could be considered accidental, until his thigh is over Tony’s crotch. Tony’s eyes don’t leave the screen and Peter ups his game, his lips grazing the older man’s ear before kissing his jaw, the scruff of his beard scratching his skin. Peter’s had to cover up more beard burn during the past few weeks than most people probably have to in their whole lives. Probably in more places, too.

“Tony,” he breathes, after suckling a sizeable bruise into his neck. During this process, Tony had slid a hand up into the boy’s hair, holding him gently in place.

“Yes baby?” Tony answers him. The endearment makes Peter’s stomach flutter every single time.

“I was thinking,” Peter continues, a little more breathless, but nothing too noticeable. He puts more weight on the thigh over Tony’s lap, situating himself more firmly on the growing bulge in Tony’s pants, “It’s been a while.”

“It’s been maybe two hours, if that,” Tony rumbles, but Peter can’t feel any complaints about that fact coming from the crotch area. He rocks his hips against him a few times, just to be sure. Mhm, nice and hard.

“‘M seventeen, I could’ve gone like five times in that time,” Peter mutters, more focused on the grinding than the conversation by this point.

“Are we still blaming how easy you are for it on your age? Thought we’d established you were just a slut.”

Peter’s hips stutter as heat rushes through him. Yeah, he likes getting called _baby_ , but he’s definitely not complaining about the dirtier names Tony has for him.

A firm hand on his ass has him continuing his increasingly desperate grinding. “Can’t just _say_ shit like that then be all, ‘gee, I wonder why Peter has the libido of a crazed rabbit’,” Peter snarks, a little breathless.

“Guess not,” Tony concurs, a hand slipping into Peter’s sweatpants, a finger rubbing against his still-slick hole. “Could fuck you again just like this, you wouldn’t even need much prep. Just stretch you back out on my cock.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Peter gasps, then pulls his shirt off over his head because fuck is it suddenly hot in here. “Yeah - yeah, want it, please.”

Tony presses a finger into him, then two, then three, feeling him out for a second, making absolute sure there’s room for himself in Peter’s body before pulling them out again. He uses the hand in Peter’s hair to tug his head from where it’s limp, resting in the crook of Tony’s neck, panting against his skin, so Peter’s upright and Tony can kiss him, licking into his mouth and biting at his bottom lip, before gently pushing him onto his back. Peter stares back up at him, eyes glazed, mouth red and open with the soft pants that have his chest heaving.

Tony stares almost reverently, his eyes trailing lower, over the marks on his neck and chest, some fading, some fresh, then down to his hips. He pulls the thin sweatpants Peter’s wearing off of him, discarding them behind him.

“So beautiful,” Tony mutters quietly. Peter groans, arching towards Tony, not even bothering to hide his desperation anymore.

“Fuck me,” he rasps.

“What, no please?” Tony says, folding Peter’s knees against his chest and sinking into him before Peter can say another word.

 

oOo

 

Tony Stark is a busy man. Theoretically, Peter knows this. He’s been there when Tony would come home at 3 in the morning to Peter working a late shift, only to turn on the coffee maker and stay up working again ‘til dawn, too exhausted to say anything that wasn’t a one-worded reply to a direct question

So deep down, Peter knows Tony not having as much time for him as he’d like is nothing to do with _him_ , and a lot to do with his demanding lifestyle. It’s not like Tony’s avoiding him on purpose or anything.

It doesn’t stop him from complaining, though.

“I barely see you anymore,” he says, arms folded on the table-top. It’s the first time they’ve had dinner together in a week. Peter was thinking they could also break the _two_ week sex drought while they were at it, kill two birds with one stone since the last time was that night in the movie room – but he’s just been informed that he’s having some meeting right after this, a conference call that could take all night. 

“We’re seeing each other right now,” Tony says. Peter gives him a dry look, and then stuffs a forkful of filet mignon in his mouth.

“You know what I mean,” he says with his mouth full.

Tony sighs, getting that look he gets when he’s dealing with a difficult client. Peter gets even more annoyed.

“I’ve been busy,” he explains. “Stark Industries just went public and it’s been a media shit-storm. I’d take spending time with you over dealing with news reporters pointing microphones and cameras at my face any day, but it’s just the way things have to be for now.”

Peter shrugs. “Whatever. Not like I expected to be a priority in Mr. Stark’s glamorous lifestyle anyw–”

“Don’t,” Tony cuts him off, dropping his fork. Peter looks at him tentatively when he hears the tone of his voice, wondering if annoying him into taking a few days off was really that easy. Then, just as quickly, his expression and tone soften again. He’s been working a lot ever since they became a thing on not yelling at Peter as much as he used to when he was his boss, but old habits die hard and Peter’s not complaining since it still sort of gets him going when Tony gets all sharp-tongued. “I miss you too. You know that. I can hardly get you out of my mind half the time.”

“Interesting that you’d want to,” Peter says, sipping out of his glass of water.

Tony gives him a look. “You’re impossible. You know that? You’re worse than me. If anyone should be out there negotiating with these clients, it should be you, you’re so stubborn.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere. And anyway, it’s fine, I’m already over it," Peter lies. "I’ll just have to entertain myself without you.”

The look Tony’s giving him turns into a Look. “And what do you mean by that, exactly?”

Peter smiles innocently at him.

 

oOo

 

Tony is a goddamn hypocrite.

Peter can’t even count the number of times he’s had to watch, anger and jealousy and lust bubbling inside him, as Tony flirted, touched and joked with whoever, whenever. He’s a notorious flirt. He is – well, used to be – in the tabloids every other week, a huge HD picture of him with a handful of some ladies ass leaving a gala or club or ball or _whatever_.

So, considering all of that, Peter is well within his rights to tell Tony to fuck _right_ off when he starts getting huffy about him _smiling_ at his associate and friend, Steve Rogers.

“What did you say to me?” Tony’s eyebrows arch. Peter’s not backing down.

“I said fuck off,” he repeats, arms folding indignantly, glowering at the older man. They’re right in the middle of a party - Tony’s party, although Peter can’t remember exactly what they’re celebrating, if they’re celebrating anything at all. This is the most focused Tony has been on him in several weeks. The music is loud and Peter has to raise his voice to be heard, which is just as well because he feels like yelling anyway. “Steve’s just being nice, get over yourself.”

Peter had been in the middle of an extremely tame conversation with Tony’s friend Steve Rogers when he’d spotted the dark-haired man across the room, looking positively livid, and had gone over to him to ask what happened, had the bartender accidentally served him a 1958 bourbon instead of 1951? Tony had ignored that and instead focused on the more pressing issue at hand.

“Oh, he’s Steve now, huh? Must be getting pretty friendly. What happened to ‘Mr. Rogers’?”

Peter doesn’t bother pointing out that he hasn’t called Steve ‘Mr. Rogers’ since the first time they met and got the whole, “Please, call me Steve,” bit - instead, he spits, “Yeah, I’ll start calling him that. Think maybe he’ll react like you do when I call you ‘sir’?”

Tony’s gaze darkens. “That supposed to be funny?”

“I’m talking to him, not sucking his dick. He’s just being friendly.”

“Yes, considering not even two months ago he was _asking me to give you his number_ , I’m sure all his intentions are nothing but friendly. He’s staring at your ass as we speak for God’s sake.”

Peter turns around to see the muscular blond man nursing a scotch near the piano where he’d left him and meeting his gaze when he realises he’s been caught. He at least has the decency to looks abashed. Peter turns back towards Tony, cheeks a little warmer, but refusing to back down. “You’re one to talk. A few months ago, there was a Buzzfeed quiz about which celebrities Tony Stark has been seen taking home. Spoiler - it was all of them. All 48 of them.”

Tony sighs loudly. “Just. Stay away from Steve. Please?”

“He’s your best friend, why don’t you just tell him–”

“And it’s because he’s my best friend that I know exactly how his mind works and what he’s probably thinking of doing to you right now and it’d be a great help, to my sanity, if not anything, if you didn’t keep _defending_ him.”

Peter looks at the ground, surly. Tony tilts his chin back up, and Peter looks everywhere but at him.

“I’ll think about it,” he tells him, before working his way out of Tony’s grasp completely and walking off.

The fact that no one knows about their recent change in dynamic yet is clearly killing Tony who looks like he’s resisting the urge to lay Peter on the bar top and show everyone, specifically Steve, who he belongs to.

The thought makes Peter shiver.

God, it’s been so long.

Peter sits himself on a bar stool and refuses to acknowledge him again, even though every part of him wants to go cling to his arm and follow him everywhere. He makes a mental note to grow some balls, and then orders some shots.

 

oOo

 

An hour later, the edges of his vision are blurred and his mouth tastes metallic with alcohol. He gets quite a few looks from a lot of people who recognise him as Tony’s housekeeper and are silently questioning why the help is getting drunk instead of cleaning up spills. He gets approached, too, a few times - okay, a lot of times, actually - the eyes that would linger when he used to work here turning into open prepositions and numbers written down on napkins, now that he’s apparently no longer tied to his duties. 

Suddenly, he feels a warm hand on his shoulder, and turns away from the bartender, who’s started to ask some hard questions about what year and month he was born, exactly, to face the owner of the hand.

It’s a dark-haired, dark-eyed man, tall and imposing and handsome. Peter’s seen him around a few times, recognised him as one of Tony’s business partners. Peter tries to shrug his hand off, but it doesn’t budge and Peter’s too buzzed to feel as indignant about that as he normally would.

“Something troubling you?” He asks, giving Peter’s shoulder a squeeze before sitting next to him. Peter shrugs, glancing back at the bar to see that the remaining shots have been taken away by the bartender, and replaced by a tall glass of ice water. He’s been cut off. He throws a wide-eyed look at the bartender, and she just pours a second glass of water and sets that in front of him too. Peter sighs.

“Nothing. Just school stuff. Homework,” Peter babbles, sticking the straw in his mouth and drinking, just for something to do. The man openly stares at his lips wrapped around the yellow plastic, and Peter puts the drink down again.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m here. Of course we’d be better off somewhere quieter–“

“He’s fine here,” comes Steve’s firm voice out of nowhere, leaving no room for argument. The man tries anyway.

“Why don’t we leave that to the young man?”

Peter shakes his head, already mentally detached from the situation, wheeling his bar stool away from the other man and looking up at Steve and asking him, “Are you following me?”

Steve chuckles, and Peter hears the probable sex offender get up and leave with a huff, indignant at being brushed off and then ignored.

“You’re not the first shoulder he’s laid a hand on tonight,” he says, nodding towards the man’s retreating figure. “Thought you might need the help.”

Peter looks closely at Steve. “Thanks,” he says slowly. And then, the vodka says, “Mr. Stark gave me your number. But I’m kind of seeing someone else.”

Addressing it was unnecessary. Steve wouldn’t have brought it up if Peter didn’t, no matter what Tony wants to think, and they could’ve just put it behind them.

Steve nods, gracious and ever the gentleman even though Peter’s overheard him making countless crude remarks about his ass, thighs and waist when he thought he couldn’t hear him, over the months. Still. Peter kind of wants to seek Tony out in the crowd so he can stick his tongue out at him. He figures Tony’s already watching, though. The thought brings a smirk to his lips.

“Of course, I understand. They’re lucky, whoever they are.”

Peter snorts, taking another sip of his water. “Tell him that,” he mutters.

“I’m sure he knows,” Steve assures Peter, which, yeah, of course he does. Tony’s good to him and treats him with love and respect, and they’re not, as Ned would like to call it, ‘friends with benefits’, hell, there haven’t been any benefits at all in a long time. Peter would come by after school and watch Tony work while he did his homework, and then Peter would force Tony to consume something that wasn’t coffee, and then they’d talk a little, or a lot, depending on how many hours Tony’s slept, and Peter would fall asleep in Tony’s office and wake up in Tony’s bed. Fully clothed. It’s more than just sex for both of them but it’s been so long that Peter’s dick is pretty much chafed from the amount of time his hand spends wrapped around it.

Peter scans the room until, directly across it, he locks eyes with Tony, who’s half engaged in a conversation with some client. He doesn’t look as angry as he was before. Peter holds his gaze as he sucks from the straw. He doesn’t expect it to have any effect, really – not like he hasn’t tried teasing Tony into throwing him against the nearest flat surface, but he’s either too tired, too busy, or just doesn’t notice.

“Oh,” comes Steve’s low voice, and Peter had kind of forgotten he was there at all. Peter looks up at him to see him glancing at Tony, then at Peter, and then back at Tony. When Peter looks back at Tony, he’s turned back to who he was talking to before, but Peter can see the small smile on his face.

Yeah, Steve’s figured it out.

“Uh,” Peter begins, but he doesn’t know what else to say.

“It’s – you and Tony?” Steve asks, eyes on Peter again. Peter watches everything slowly fall into place in his head. “God, of course. You and Tony.” He chuckles to himself for a second, and Peter laughs a little too, because he’s tipsy and he also finds his own life pretty hilarious and also because he's really interested in Tony's reaction at Peter being flushed with laughter at something Steve had said.

They spend about half a minute just giggling by the bar before he sees Tony looking in their direction again, smile gone, approaching them.

Within seconds, he’s stood next to Steve who looks extremely amused by the whole thing. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve tells Tony. “You could’ve said something. I might’ve backed off.”

“How generous of you,” Tony says steadily, not looking at Steve at all.

Peter’s breath catches in his throat as he feels Tony wordlessly lay a large, firm hand on his lower back and guide him off the bar-stool, and then out of the room. His heart thuds, he nearly trips over his own feet as he’s led up the stairs, into the bedroom that hasn’t seen any action other than napping in weeks.

Tony closes and locks the door behind him.

“Some host,” Peter mutters, leaning against the dresser. He feels like his heart’s going to beat out of his chest. He reminds himself and his dick that he’s probably just going to get into another heated conversation about what is and isn’t appropriate behaviour around your sort-of-boyfriend’s close friends. “Everyone’s gonna be wondering where you’ve g—“

“Come here,” Tony tells him, sitting on the bed. Peter’s having a little trouble breathing, and there’s beads of cold sweat breaking out at the back of his neck, but Tony doesn’t have to know that. He saunters over to him, trying to remain as casual as possible and he stands between the older man’s spread legs and is pulled down onto his lap.

Sitting in Tony’s lap _does things_ to Peter at the best of times. He swallows. His breath comes short and choppy; he refuses to look at Tony. A hand, warm and steady, strokes up Peter’s back and into his hair, grounding him, like it always does. Peter shivers. He sags against Tony, his head leaning against his chest, breathing slowing down a little more. 

His eyes slide closed. Tony cards his fingers through Peter’s hair.

“You’ve been busy tonight,” Tony says after a long minute.

“Don’t know if you can call drinking alone all night ‘busy’,” Peter mutters, opening his eyes again.

“Like hell you were alone,” Tony scoffs, voice eerily calm in that controlled way that usually meant Peter wouldn’t be able to walk out of the room without assistance. Peter’s stomach flips. 

“Not my fault if people want to talk to me,” Peter complains, voice thick. “Just being friendly.”

“Mhm, you were being _really_ friendly, weren’t you?” Tony’s fingers tug on his hair a little, just lightly.

“Maybe,” Peter says, “if you actually paid attention to me once in a while, I wouldn’t’ve had to be.”

There’s a short pause, and then Peter realises he’s walked right into Tony’s trap, confirmed his suspicions. 

 

O

 

Peter’s head spins. 

“I was never mad at you, not really. More frustrated that you couldn’t see something so obvious, that you couldn’t see Steve’s intentions with you — but now I know you could, and yet you decided to play innocent. You just wanted a reaction out of me, huh?” Peter’s legs shake as Tony curls his fingers, rubbing relentlessly against his spot. “Well, you’ve got it.”

“Oh, God,” he moans, head tilted back, hands fisting the sheets, “Oh, _fuck_.”

“Mm,” Tony hums for a second in that tone of voice that means he’s giving Peter an appreciative once-over. “Just that desperate for it, huh? Well if you want to act like a bitch in heat, I’m gonna give it you like one.” Another finger. Peter cries out at the stretch, pushes back against it.

Peter doesn’t know where he got off thinking he could ever pull one over on the literal genius prodigy. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he pants, “I - oh, _oh_ —“ Tony scissors his fingers inside him, until the muscle slowly gives and loosens and Peter’s cock is dripping, neglected and an angry red, against his stomach. 

“This’ll go a lot easier for you if you don’t lie to me, Peter,” he says, then his fingers are curling inside him again, finding that sweet spot with ease and pressing up against it mercilessly. Peter near-screams, hips bucking, cock leaking like a broken faucet.

Tony’s large hands touch him everywhere, stroking over his thighs, his stomach, his fingers toy with his nipples until they’re hard and darkened. Peter’s overwhelmed, breathless, _aching_ with how bad he wants this, how long he’s been waiting.

“Gonna come,” Peter rasps, as if Tony doesn’t already know his body well enough to know that. He stops his ministrations slowly, before pulling his fingers out of him completely and Peter squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t literally start crying. As it is, he arches desperately. “Tony,” he whines hoarsely, blinking them open again. Tears slip out regardless.

Tony looks at him for a few seconds, expectant. Peter doesn’t budge, no matter how much he wants to. He knows what Tony wants - an admission. An apology.

Peter’s stubborn, though.

Tony grips his hips and then rolls him over onto his stomach. Peter groans into the sheets at the little bit of friction, grinding into the soft bedcovers until he feels Tony’s hand pressing against his lower back, stilling his movements.

Before Peter can say another word, he’s sliding the same hand lower, fingers dipping into his hole again and making Peter whine. 

The sudden warm, wet pressure of Tony’s tongue is unexpected but so fucking welcome. He moans, open-mouthed and shameless as he works the wet muscle of Peter’s hole, before fucking him with his tongue. He’s slow at first, methodical almost, hands still holding Peter down so he can barely even squirm and he’s so hard he feels dizzy, so needy it _hurts_. 

Tony’s beard rubs against the skin of Peter’s inner thighs, undoubtedly leaving red marks in his wake. He works two fingers back into Peter, just to torture him some more, and then sucks at his rim, wet and sloppy and so so good. Peter goes boneless, gasping desperately.

“Fuck- Tony, Tony, please,” he begs him, eyes squeezed shut, mouth slack.

The stretch of his fingers coupled with the blunt, wet pressure of his tongue is _incredible_ , but Tony’s careful not to tip him over the edge.

“Mm?” Tony rumbles flippantly, as if he’s not pulling Peter apart slowly, torturously. Peter keens.

“Fuck, I - _hnnn_ , Okay. I - didn’t ... m-maybe I shouldn’t’ve acted like that, before at the p-party,” he forces out, cheeks blazing even hotter as he forces the confession, albeit vague, out of him.

“That’s good,” Tony tells him, “It’s a start,” he says, before ducking again to lap at his rim, tongue slipping past his hole and pressing against his taint, sucking on the sensitive skin and then flicking against his balls slowly. His hands pin Peter to the bed when he squeals and bucks, holding him still for his onslaught. 

Every nerve in Peter’s body is alive with sensation, sweat covering his body in a thin sheen - he wants Tony inside him, deep inside him, he wants to come, hell, he wants to hump the fucking sheets. He pushes back against the older man’s hands, still holding him down with ease, just testing. They don’t budge.

Peter moans, long and low. His cock, sensitive and trapped underneath him, leaks endlessly as Tony teases the base, lips barely grazing it as he eats him. 

“Tony, _Tony_ ,” he sobs, voice ragged, “shit, I’m – ‘m sorry, I’m _sorry_ , just fucking – just get me off, make me come, fuck,” Peter pants, shameless.

He pushes back again, harder, using his hands, fisted in the sheets, to push himself up, and that, at least, warrants him being shoved against the mattress more harshly, his body bowed against the sheets. Peter squirms for a second longer before stopping, panting and flushed from exertion and arousal. Tony’s sheets are pretty much ruined with his pre-come.

“You done?” Tony asks, sounding mildly amused. Peter would think all the nakedness and masturbation was having no effect at all on him if it weren’t for the gravelly tone of his voice.

“Fuck you,” Peter pants into a pillow.

“We’ll see,” Tony tells him, releasing him. Peter groans when the weighted pressure of him is gone, feels like Tony was the only thing holding him down, like without him he might float away. He doesn’t go far, though – he threads his fingers into Peter’s hair and pulls him back, onto his knees by it. Peter goes easy, and blushes even hotter, if that’s possible, when his face is no longer smushed into a pillow and the room is filled with his loud, breathy sobs, chest rising and falling rapidly. 

Tony’s hand leaves his hair, and he shushes him gently when he whines about it. He hears the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle being undone and turns around to face him, sat back on his knees on the bed. 

Tony’s rock hard – not that Peter ever really doubted that fact, but it’s still nice to see for sure. Peter’s pretty sure his eyes glaze over staring at it. He licks his lips. Tony comes to the edge of the bed, and Peter wordlessly shuffles closer until Tony’s hand is back in his hair again.

“Open up,” he tells him, swiping his thumb against Peter’s spit-slick lips. Peter automatically does as he says, leaning in and lapping at the tip, wrapping his lips around it and sinking down, swallowing as much as he can in one go. Tony tells him to ‘relax your throat, baby’, and Peter does as he’s told until he’s swallowing around him and his eyes are watering and Tony’s telling him how he looks like he was made to suck cock and how much he’s missed having those lips wrapped around him.

Peter blinks up at him and Tony curses at the sight and rubs a thumb against his jaw, presses into his cheek to feel his cock there, hot and heavy and leaking with every drag against his tongue, into the warm wet confines of his throat, making his chest tight and his head spin. He drools almost mindlessly, taking it as it’s given to him.

“Look at that,” Tony says, sounding much less composed than before. “Finally found a way to shut you up.” Peter still has it in him to make an indignant sound, low in his throat, and Tony continues, “Don’t give me that, you know I’m right, you fucking love to run your mouth, but I already knew that. This is all you needed, hm? My cock in you in one way or another, reminding you who you belong to.”

Peter shivers all over, making a mangled attempt to nod his head.

Tony moans, fucking his mouth slow, easy, eyes on Peter the whole time, little whispers of endearment and degradation falling from his lips, just the way Peter likes it. 

“There you go, just like that. Look so pretty on your knees for me, so fucking greedy for it.”

Peter moans around him before freezing up, his hands laying obediently on the bed even though no one had told him to place them there, and he comes, _hard_ , all over his stomach without a single touch. He whites out for a good five seconds, all senses failing him as the orgasms wracks through him.

Tony lets out a loud akin to a growl, his fingers tightening in his hair as Peter sucks him all the way through it, desperate as ever, pre-come dripping down his chin, tears sliding down his cheeks. Tony pulls him off and lifts him bodily, laying him on his back underneath him. 

Peter’s practically trembling as Tony takes a handful of his hips and finally, _finally_ fucks into him, making him cry out, his head fuzzy with want and need and breathless pants of “ _don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop_ ”. 

“That’s it, baby,” Tony croons, pushes Peter into the mattress while his hips snap into him. “Just like that, let me give you what you need, what you’ve been looking so desperate for all night, like you’d let any one of them drag you off to bed–”

“Wouldn’t,” Peter whines, body sliding up the bed with each thrust. “Didn’t want them, just you, wanted this,” he stammers, all the fight drained out of him. “ _Screw_ Steve, I don’t want him, he could never - _God_ , he could never,” Peter trails off, moaning, long and loud.

“Damn fucking straight.” Tony’s hands squeeze his hips, holding him in place as the headboard slams against the wall. Tony picks up the pace, goes faster, and a part of Peter’s mind thinks the man might be part human part jackhammer. He can barely speak. Need burns under his skin, his cock already heavy and hard again against his stomach, untouched this whole time. 

Peter’s making sounds that he’d be embarrassed about at any other time, his hands at the back of his knees, holding his legs up and open. Tony ducks his head and sinks his teeth into him, marks him up, and Peter groans, whines out, “Yeah, _yes_ , yours, all yours.”

Taking Peter’s knees, Tony pushes them against his chest, bending him in half, knocking the breath out of him. The new angle makes his body go lax, open and pliant, until he can do is lay there and take it, Tony’s lips against his jaw sucking blood to the already-bruised surface of his skin before they’re kissing, hot and heavy, Tony licking into Peter’s mouth. He grinds right up against Peter’s spot, slower and steadier and Peter gasps desperately, pushing back – it’s almost too much, heat pulses through his veins in long, overwhelming waves. Tony only goes deeper, harder. 

When Peter comes, he shakes and he’s sure he’d be screaming if it wasn’t for Tony’s mouth on his, swallowing every sound. Peter goes limp in his arms and feels Tony’s bruising thrusts slow until he’s spurting inside him, filling him with his come. Peter whimpers and lays there for a few moments, eyes shut, enjoying the moment. His breathing takes a while to settle, shuddering and hitching, and Tony kisses him gently. 

He pulls out of him slowly, and Peter hisses quietly, earning more kisses. 

“You gonna get like this every time I get you mad from now on?” Peter asks, blissful, practically slurring his words, his eyes half-open.

He can feel Tony’s come leaking out of him. It makes him feel at peace, in a way. 

“I wouldn’t test that theory,” he warns him, but he’s looking at Peter like he’d rip the sun clean out of the sky if it was getting in Peter’s eyes, so the warning doesn’t hold too much weight. Peter grins.

“Wasn’t that better than making small talk with some corporate robots?”

“Marginally, yes,” Tony says, rolling them over so Peter’s laying on Tony’s chest. 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to _tell_ you,” Peter says, triumphantly. 

Tony kisses his forehead, and Peter smiles so big his cheeks hurt. Other parts of him also hurt, and he definitely won’t be able to stand properly when he eventually tries to, but that doesn’t matter right now.

“So I’m thinking, more days off work,” Tony tells him. Peter’s dopey smile widens even more, if that’s possible.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Less work, more Peter. Sounds pretty good to me.”

Sounds good to Peter, too.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading and be sure to let me know what you though in the comments or on tumblr @ starkftpark
> 
> i don't see myself continuing this story, i kind of like where i've left it for now but who knows what might happen in the future lmao 
> 
> thanks again for all the feedback and support :)))


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